


Trapped

by Star_less



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Complete, Desperation, Embarrassment, Gen, Omorashi, Omovember 2020, One Shot, Professor Layton and the Miracle Mask, Shyness, To Be Edited, Trapped, Trapped Desperation, Urination, akbadain ruins, desperate hershel layton, layton and randall are aged up a bit, maybe ooc lmao oops, my first omovember fic, oh boy, poor layton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27566374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_less/pseuds/Star_less
Summary: Exploring the Akbadain ruins - freshly trapped, room-by-room, isn't the best place to need a wee.Why the Azrans had the time to create all these traps and puzzles – and not once think of including a loo – pained Hershel.
Relationships: Randall Ascot & Hershel Layton
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	Trapped

**Author's Note:**

> This is an omorashi fic. It has piss in it. Be warned, or enjoy, if this is your thing. 
> 
> I haven't played Miracle Mask in a billion years so I'm sorry if it's all rusty.

“Just get up!”  
Randall was speaking through gritted teeth but wasn’t particularly angry-sounding as he nudged Hershel’s leg. Hershel was sat next to him, leg jiggling a mile a minute, and after an hour and a half of feeling like he was on some sort of fairground ride even Randall’s patience had chipped away. He ducked his head closer to his friend but didn’t meet his gaze, staring at the perfectly looped cursive in his notebook. “Seriously, no one cares. Just get up. If Collins says something, just tell him you have to piss.”  
He cracked a smile at this, slathering teasing giggles on top. 

Next to him, Hershel’s face ignited. “Randall,” he moaned, tightening his toes in his shoes, the redness leaking out over his face as he tried to entertain the mere thought of him saying such a thing, out loud, in front of his favourite lecturer. “Stop it!”

“But you do!” Randall shrugged. 

And he did, he really did. He was usually quite conscientious when it came to... that, especially before this particular lecture session once he was full of tea. Today’s lecture would have been no different had Randall not sat and gibbered on at him right as he was on his way to the loo. To make matters worse, now that Randall knew he seemed to be enjoying it somehow. “Look, just...” Randall said, grabbing Hershel by the arm—Hershel wasn’t paying attention—“Just get up!” He said and suddenly— suddenly Hershel came back to himself and there he was, standing up and cutting his lecturer off seamlessly mid-sentence. Every pair of eyes in the room was on him, burning through him. Gravity squeezed his midsection with renewed vengeance; he had to fight back the moan that wanted to burst through his gritted teeth. 

“Is there something you’d like to share with the class, Hershel?” 

Mr Collins raised his eyebrows. There was a note of surprise to his voice, the sort that said ‘well, this is very unlike you, Hershel’, and Hershel hated it. He tried to speak but his cheeks were hollowed, dry pits - dryer than the rocks they had been studying. “U- um..” Hershel said when his voice came back to him, fidgeting on his toes and toying with clammy fingers. “Um, no— I’ll just—!”  
Muttering a ‘sorry’, Hershel crashed down in his chair again, grimacing. He was all knock-kneed and trembly.

“I don’t understand you at all, Hersh,” said Randall, clutching his textbooks tight to his chest. Class was over now. Hershel had taken care of... what he needed to take care of. Even Randall knew that. Not that he’d ever announce it (He was weird like that, Hershel, so uptight!) but he had shuffled off furtively in the direction of the loos the second old Collins had dismissed them, so it was no surprise. “I mean, does it matter? Everybody does it! If it was me, I’d just get up. What’s he gonna do, stop me? Pin me down?” Randall was guffawing to himself, even if his friend didn’t appreciate his humour so much. “Hell. Maybe even just whip it out and go in the waste paper bin!” Just in case Hershel didn’t get the message, he mimed ‘whipping it out’ and ‘going’.

“Randall!” Hershel whined. He was grimacing, and his cheeks were coloured with renewed redness.

“Oh, I’m joking!” said Randall, laughing and falling about the place. 

Hershel shook his head. “That’s you,” he said, “not me.”  
He didn’t do... stuff like that. He couldn’t.  
~

The rocks were digging into his bum.   
The rocks were digging into his bum and-- and that was why he was squirming so much.   
…Yes. Yes, of course, that was it; the rocks and sticks and dust poked into his backside no matter which way he twisted.   
It definitely wasn’t… for any other reason.   
Rubbing his temple with one hand, Hershel rearranged himself a little bit and looked toward his best friend, who was talking a mile a minute, ‘ooh’ing and ‘aah’ing as he studied the runes etched into the glimmering cave walls. As far as Hershel was concerned – as much as he adored Randall – there wasn’t enough escaping going on, and rather too much excited pondering that he had tuned out nearly, phew, half an hour ago now?  
Why he had agreed to come to Akbadain with Randall in the first place, he couldn’t fathom. …Well. No. That was a big fat fib, actually – Randall had nagged his sorry arse off and he had said yes just to shut him up. And he did love hearing Randall when he got into his nerdy archaeological stuff, really, just not when…

“Aha! Got it! Phew, that was a toughie!”  
The rocks creaked against one another and parted to reveal a dark pathway. “Come on, Hersh!”

Whining a little, Hershel followed. The pair only made it a short distance before coming to a puzzle etched in two boulders, blocking their pathway. Again. Hershel startled. He hadn’t expected a cut off so soon. There was a nagging tug somewhere in his midriff; he shuffled, glanced at Randall. Please don’t make me, he thought to himself, not sure he had the mental capacity to solve anythi – 

Randall gestured, ‘you try!’. Great.

“Mmm… i- is it, um, this way?” Hershel bit his lip, swallowing the rough ball in his throat as he pushed a rock forward, grimacing in disappointment when the path before them didn’t open up.   
Damn it. Why the Azrans had the time to create all these traps and puzzles – and not once think of including a loo – pained Hershel. He could feel it – all of it – the pounding in his bladder, the pump-pump of his heart; his pulse fizzling nervously as Randall’s eyes dug into him, seeing exactly what he was doing – watching him fail, watching him squirm. He dared himself to wriggle a little bit, whimpered to himself as the pounding sensation of fullness disappeared for maybe a nanosecond – then pulled himself together, remembered Randall. His legs jammed together. “I- uh, I’m having trouble, you- you give it a go!” 

Randall stopped, stilled, drank in Hershel’s movements. “You feeling alright, mate?”

Hershel’s cheeks flamed. He was sat by now, his knees pulled in tight to one another. He swallowed. “…yes,” he said finally, his cheeks pinky-hot with shame. “The rocks are just digging into my bum.”  
~

“…Come on, you must know this one, Hersh!”

They were sat down against a backdrop of endless boulders, trapped. Again. Rubbing his temple Hershel peered at the grid of tiles in front of him and tried to bite back a grimace as he squirmed against the uncomfortable fullness in his middle. “Okay…” he took a deep breath, although it did nothing to alleviate his discomfort; if anything, it only made the twinges worse.   
The tiles. He had to shuffle the tiles, to reveal the equation printed on them. Simple enough, something he’d done a thousand times before, but - “U- uh…” - he hesitated. All that gnawed away at him was oh, he really needed the loo, and oh, they were stuck down here, and oh-oh, now he was sat down everything sort of… pulled and prickled and pooled in his middle. His hand froze at a particularly tough spike driving itself through his midriff; he hissed, faltered, his hand creeping to the spot between his legs instead… and…

“Hersh…?”

R- right. Randall. Grimacing, the curly-haired student rocked forward, tore his hand away from his lap – shaking now – tried to shuffle the tiles again. “U- um,” he squeaked breathily, “You could, um… move this one…” Yes, if you moved that tile it looked like it made the spine of a one – or was it perhaps a seven? Oh… he shuffled again – sort of rearranging himself, just a smidgen – but he couldn’t lose himself in his puzzles, not with the constant itch-itch-itch of his bladder, or the way his knee was constantly jiggling, or how he wished that this puzzle would be it, that they would open themselves up into freedom, freedom for him to… answer nature’s call.   
Nature’s increasingly impatient (and, undoubtedly) loud and splashy call, the longer he was putting it off.  
Thinking about it made him need to grab himself. Huffing a little, he threw the tiles back into their notches – grimacing, but not at the jolt of pain that shot through his hand. “Can’t,” he said between breaths, folding in on himself a bit, “Randall, you try!”.  
~

“What’s the matter, Hersh? Really?” Randall’s face crinkled in concern. He studied Hershel from all angles, gaze digging into his jaw, looking up his nose, looking into his eyes. He hadn’t ever seen Hershel like this before, not all… weird and foggy and quiet.  
It was odd.  
Was it his fault? Or…! The ruins, was it the ruins? Maybe, uh, maybe the dust was getting to his chest, or—or something weird like that. Was he asthmatic? Maybe he was asthmatic? Although Randall didn’t think so. “Are you okay?” Oh, he’d be such a bad friend if this was all his fault. “Please be okay!”

Hershel grimaced as Randall searched him, fidgeting. Frankly how Randall couldn’t work out what was going on was beyond him; he had seen him fidgeting often enough in class that the movements should’ve been familiar to him by now. He whimpered a little. Please don’t make me say it, Randall, he thought to himself as his cheeks reddened, please don’t make me say it out loud. And then – Randall – Randall in his face, leaning over him, poking his ruddy-red cheeks, so close Hershel was sure he could hear every whimper in his breath. He stilled, as still as he could make himself. “I’m fine, Randall, please don’t worry!” He was terse and tight and oh, this great painful spike of desperation fell right through his body; caught him unaware; he folded forward, fumbled fingers grabbing at his trousers; toes curled tight in his shoes; this horrible choked mewl falling from his mouth. Randall froze. Time seemed to be on a go-slow here in the ruins but now, for Hershel, it had stopped entirely. 

“You’re killing me, Hersh, come on,” Randall said, squinting, shining his torchlight in Hershel’s face, although now – in the back of his mind – he knew.

Hershel gasped, whimpered, shied away from the light. “Leave me alone, Randall!” he huffed softly, his hands coming to cover his face – although there was no fire in his voice. He shifted tighter into himself, wincing at the fluttering in his bladder. He was sure if he knotted himself up even tighter he was going to explode but oh, how he hated this – curled up tight in such an awfully invasive space, Randall able to see every kick and whine and trickle. Although he tried so badly to stop himself, to keep himself tight and still, the trembles kicked back in only a few seconds after Randall shone his torchlight at him – the trembles and those annoying, embarrassing little whimpers that clung to every breath. “…leave me alone,” he said again, even quieter this time. 

It fell quiet. Hershel relished it for a long moment; curled into himself he allowed a squirm again – a slippery slope, just one, s if Randall wouldn’t notice – as then he gave in to just one more, just two more, the tight pulling sensation in his bladder dying off a bit, and it felt so good not to have that sensation knifing away. 

“Oh.” Randall’s voice was soft, damp with realisation. “Oh, Hersh.” Sympathy now. Then, a pitch more hopeful, “Just go against a rock…?” 

Hershel opened his eyes, looked, although didn’t need to; rocks crunched under his feet and dug into his back – the pair were surrounded. He had plenty of choice, he supposed…

“…that’s what I’d do!” chortled Randall (ever the schoolboy) from somewhere in the background - although Hershel wasn’t listening to him. Embarrassment coiled in his belly, sour and snakelike.   
“Randall!” Hershel baulked, “I can’t do that!” He looked around in the darkness of the ruins. “…Rutledge might… might be watching, or- or something.”  
It felt wrong somehow. Even though, oh, he really could and – and relief was just there, dangling a little way past his fingertips… he couldn’t. Not with Randall so close by, either.  
Knowing there was nothing he could do until they’d made a safe escape he jiggled his legs and wriggled slightly on his bum for good measure, wincing as Randall barrelled into another round of laughs. 

“You can’t be serious?” Randall was doubled over (if Hershel was very honest, he almost looked as though he was going to wet himself with laughter) – and made no effort to hide his teasing giggles with the palms of his hands. “As if!” he waved his hand. “I bet old Rutledge and all his archaeologist pals pissed down here at least once. What’re you meant to do, wait?”

“Randall!” Hershel whined, bright red now, eternally thankful for the darkness of the cave that kept Randall from seeing the colour on his cheeks. How had he just… read his mind like that? “…I’m glad you find this so funny,” he said, sulkiness flaring into his voice. 

“But it’s true, Hersh, c’mon. You know it is. It’s not that big of a deal.” Randall shrugged, voice softer, whetted with concern. 

“I can’t, Randall. Please, let’s just get back to trying to get out of here?” Hershel pleaded desperately. 

Randall’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Hershel for a long moment. Hershel’s hands gripped tight to the cave floor in anticipation of them getting up. Then…

“No.”

Hershel blinked. Time stopped again. “But,” Hershel wrenched his voice up through tight, panicked lungs. “But, Randall, oh—Randall, I need to--!” he pleaded. Please, oh please, and there were tears in his eyes now that he wished weren’t there. “I- I can’t, I…”

Randall looked around. “Hersh, we’re—” he began. It wasn’t easy, traversing these ruins, not with Hershel so… ? so... desperate. “It could take ages, getting out of here.”

Hershel hesitated, groaning a little. 

“Well,” said Randall, “you either piss yourself now or spray down a coupla rocks!” It was put perhaps a little more crudely than Hershel enjoyed.   
He knew Hershel was shy but – really – what other options did he have? “Look, I’ll – I’ll close my eyes, really tight, and cover my ears!” he said earnestly, rocking forward. He could see the tear tracks – tiny though they were – little pearly glimmers on his friend’s cheeks - and felt awful. It was his fault they had ended up trapped down here room-after-room in the first place, his fault that Hershel had ended up in this position. The least Randall could do was encourage him to make himself feel better.

Hershel looked at Randall. He sniffed. Then he hesitated; sniffing again, mouth opening the tiniest gap. “Please don’t look,” he said at last.   
~

“…I’m sorry Doris Pompitous, I’m really sorry Donald Rutledge!” His voice shook and although he swore it was tiny and mouselike it seemed to bounce around the cave at sixty billion decibels, enough to make him blush again. He fumbled for the waistband of his trousers. Even the slightest of pressure was enough to elicit this tiny ‘e-erk!’ noise, a noise he wasn’t sure he’d ever made before today, dying to fold himself over at the waist and to hold on tight. There was just-- just something about this situation he couldn’t reconcile himself with. Even though he knew he wasn’t - knew he’d never! - he felt as though Randall was sat next to him, eyes trained on his… middle, waiting for the show to begin. He knew the second he eased himself from the tight confines of his trousers it was game over, that there was no hiding as to how desperate he was, and oh, he didn’t want to show that to Randall. Heck, what if-- what if this place was booby-trapped? What if… what if he set some sort of sixty-year curse upon himself for-- for defiling the ruins?!  
He swallowed thickly.   
No.   
There wasn’t going to be any more of this silliness. Randall was… was right. It was either Randall saw him… going... now - or saw him soaking himself later, which was considerably worse. That-- that meant there was only one thing for it.   
His breaths rattled, anticipation making his chest tight. He fished himself quickly out of his trousers and positioned himself--already dribbling--at the first rock he saw. “I- I’m,” he started up his mantra again, strained and tiny in anticipation of him clamming up entirely with shyness.   
A thick, lone, spurt trickled down onto the rockface, tearing his mantra apart mid-sentence. Instead, Hershel whined—“H-haaah?!” –the spurt, not alone, joined by more, and more, and –

And – oh –

oh – h – h

h - here he was, peeing on a rock in the ruins! Peeing -- loudly! -- on a rock in the ruins!   
The sound was vicious, heavy and splattering and only amplified by the cave he was stood in. Although the sound still brought redness to his cheeks, although the knowledge Randall could hear everything made that redness burn brighter - now that Hershel had eased open the floodgates he wasn’t (couldn’t even!) trying to stop himself. The dull ebbing in his muscles fell away as his stream picked up, replaced instead by relief, the kind of relief that started low in his belly and rushed sparks up his spine.   
“O- oh…” Hershel mumbled at the sensation, not meaning to but not able to stop himself, one hand coming to rub his lower tummy. The area was softening now, nowhere as taut and warm and full as it had been--although Hershel didn’t need telling. Somewhere beneath him - his knees maybe, or his legs? - he was trembling at the sensation; even as the stream lost its thickness, fell away to quiet plinky-plinks and then to nothing at all, he continued to tremble. Shaking, tucking in, and stumbling back to Randall in near darkness took more concentration than he’d thought; he nearly stumbled and landed a mess of arms and legs into Randall’s lap. 

“Easy!”   
Randall propped the still-shivering Hershel upright again; Hershel re-orientated himself and at long last sat down next to his redheaded best friend. In what limited light they had Randall could see that funny pinky-red colour in his cheeks.   
He laughed. “That good, huh?”  
He had heard everything – despite covering his ears, yes - every dribble, every splash, every hitched or bated breath. It was perhaps a moot question but he knew he had to break the ice somehow or that would be it, the death of their friendship. Hershel was so shy.

“I’ll say!” Hershel shivered again, not out of need this time - there was a grimace slapped on top. “I don’t think I want to do that again.”

“No?” Randall asked nonchalantly, scooping up his flashlight. Hershel made a negative sounding noise and in return, Randall giggled but didn’t speak. Suit yourself, the redhead thought, tugging at the waistband of his trousers as he followed his friend, now revitalised. Hearing Hershel… go, like that, it—it almost made him have to go too. “W- wait up!” a nervous laugh feathered his voice as Hershel crunched on down the dusty paths ahead of him – his fingers fidgeted with his waistband and he hesitated for a moment before shaking his head. There was treasure to be found; he could wait!

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the omovember 2020 prompt, day 12: trapped and desperate. 
> 
> I haven't written an omovember fic before, so here you go. Honestly I think this fic needs work, but it was fun to write. Maybe I'll add to it when I'm not busy. Set an alarm for next year, folks. 
> 
> Join the piss gang discord server, if you'd like, which is where chat about omovember bubbled along. We're a friendly bunch: https://discord.gg/E8aasFByzv


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